Love Melted Me into a Puddle
by Toffke
Summary: Earlier today Yakov took one look at him and proclaimed him gone off the deep end, but Victor could only work up a short and rather pathetic bout of nerves trying to find enough self-preservation to care. [Retelling of YOI from Victor's POV][Part 2 of oneshot series: Victor met the bombshell that is Katsuki Yuuri and can't figure out what to think. Or how one thinks.]


[A/N: part 2. Part one is Life and Love. Enjoy 3 Also someone plz help me edit plz]

Victor really doesn't understand.

He'd just caught himself reminiscing about yesterday night, only to realize in his haze he'd thoughtlessly leant into the bathroom mirror for so long the chill of the sink has sunk into his abdomen. He shivers, but whether from excitement or cold he can't tell. The black-eyed, soft-haired beast has so utterly steamrolled through his life, his morals, and his goals that after that one effortless night, he can't recognize himself anymore. Victor splashes more cold water on his face. The abomination in the mirror is grinning like a fool. Warning bells are dimly sounding in his head, and he knows he's ridiculously, inordinately obsessed: stuck, sunk, stymied, or, more vulgarly, _fucked_. Earlier today Yakov took one look at him and proclaimed him gone off the deep end, but Victor could only work up a short and rather pathetic bout of nerves trying to find enough self-preservation to care.

"That's a warning in of itself," he chides his reflection and pokes it playfully on the nose. His finger slides, and the water trails. They giggle.

Yeah, he's lost it.

"The hell, Victor," Yuri whispers from the bathroom doorway, one hand at the door and body suddenly poised to walk out, looking like he's stepped in something rancid.

Victor freezes. Just act a little embarrassed, then embarrass Yuri enough to confuse him and walk out, the regular Victor in his head quickly plans, but elated Victor has already blown Yuri a kiss and said, "That's the look you give your parents when you walk in on them having sex, right?" with a wink.

Wait, no.

They share a moment of mutual horrified silence before Yuri, in his weakness, fearfully whispers, "I'm fourteen." He starts to slink out, never dropping his almost tearful gaze from Victor's own, who, in his despair, cannot look away. "I never wanted to know that. I'm only fourteen."

Victor stares at the uncharacteristically gently closed door.

He closes his eyes.

He opens them.

Oh, that was so wrong, he thinks, frantic. What was that? The wink, that was supposed to be for the cameraman. The kiss, for the fans. The mention of sex, Yuuri…no, no, no. Actually, he's not sure where that last one came from. Yuuri probably wouldn't react very well to being walked in on by Yuri. Or maybe he would?

He gets sidetracked by memories of the little devil doing the devil's dance on the pole, then Yuuri hugging him, eyes shining so warm with some terrifying emotion so strong Victor could feel himself, his careful self control, his monitored quirky, lovable, charming persona, his rationality, his sense of self, actually his senses in general melt away, all interspersed with flashes of tight thigh muscles under little blue boxer shorts.

Tentatively, he touches his face. He's smiling again.

He'd asked him to be his coach. Victor. Me. Be his coach. Realistically thinking, Victor can't coach: he doesn't know how to coach, he has no patience, and he's terrible at explaining how his skating works. But he got asked a favor, and Yuuri looked so happy, Victor couldn't help but be happy with him. How could you refuse an offer from an angel?

Maybe it was the alcohol. He hopes it was the alcohol, even though he knows he had none, because he doesn't think his heart can take such a strain, and his practical side, the one cut from life's whip and honed on its whetstone, knows it won't take the eventual disappointment.

The rush he'd felt that night, though, it was true. He'd met a force so powerful, that when met with his own charisma, it swept him off his feet, tumbled his brain into mush and then some. Before, he was Victor Nikiforov, five-times gold medalist but dying. Now he is Victor Nikiforov, shocked back into life with a confused ache in his pants and too much happiness that he acts drunk always.

He's a mess. Everything is a mess. If he shows up on live TV anytime soon he'll come out a broken, broken man.

But Yuuri would look really good in his black briefs. They'd probably be too loose, and Victor could have endless fun pulling them up. He'd hook a finger from the back and _pull_ …and his buttcheeks…yep, mhmm. Vkusno.

Hesitantly, he touches his face again.

Goddamit. He's already a broken man. He turns on the tap to rinse the blood away.

[A/N: leave a comment if ya liked it, hated it, had no strong feelings, are physically unable to feel, have no appendages to type, have no capacity to reason, are rock good rock is very literate rock, or want to talk to me about the botanical difference btwn tangerines and clementines. oh also headcanon Victor based agape on this chance meeting with innocent!Yuri]


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